


Daystar

by squidhat



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Breastfeeding, F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 08:27:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13830321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squidhat/pseuds/squidhat
Summary: Senya's pendant, and what it witnessed. Senya/Valkorion.





	Daystar

**Author's Note:**

> Another plot idea that wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it, and probably the most difficult pairing I have ever written, ever.

_3654 BBY_

Senya remained captivated with the majesty of space above and around her. Below her lay Zakuul, the blues of the Vartun Ocean to her right, and the glittering network of civilization spreading over the northern continent at her left hand. Only a single solid wall dared block the astral procession from view; this held a solitary lift leading back down to the palace, and a table containing the rarest bottles of wine in Wild Space. The room held one other item of furniture – a white and gold chaise lounge, large and comfortable – and there she sat.

She had spent hours dressing for this evening, purchasing a new outfit – something fashionable, showing an expanse of bust and legs – before discarding it on her bed. It wasn’t _her_ and she hated how much money she’d spent on such a blatant lie. Neither were the tall-heeled shoes she’d bought to match. She chose instead the dress that she had bought for a ball that occurred years before – soft gray, tailored lines, with a high, open collar and a long skirt. The fabric was comfortable and the tailoring gave her the illusion of power, of height, a reminder of her capability and allure all at once.

A meteor glimmered by, no larger than she, and took to the atmosphere with a flash of orange flame. And in Senya, reverie turned to sudden horror. “Oh,” she breathed, rising from the chaise, alarm growing in her chest as her body tensed. The trajectory of the meteor was obvious and terrible together. “It will hit the Cardaan Tower!”

From behind her, an arm extended, hand tight, fingers pointing and tensed. Within the Force, Senya felt a sudden and enthralling surge, a tsunami in a calm sea, a roaring inferno upon placid ice. The meteor came to a sudden stop, Zakuul’s atmosphere licking around its ovular, rocky form. Senya’s horror turned quickly to a joyful shiver that encompassed her entire body.

“I would not allow that to happen,” rumbled Valkorion, his lips very close to her ear.

His fingers clenched into a fist. The meteor exploded, noiselessly and harmlessly, into fine powder.

The result left Senya breathless, her skin tingling with a sensation not unlike electricity.  To feel her mate in the Force was to embrace a pulsar, to lace fingers with an event horizon, to lie in the lap of creation itself and know the smell of its skin.

“I did not intend such a threat to end this evening.” Valkorion lowered his hand, resting it now on the small of her waist. “Relax, my dear.”

Senya let a small, relieved laugh escape her lips. The Dragon of Zakuul, indeed. Protector of his people. God and Emperor rolled into one, immortal and vigilant and powerful.

But they were alone, and they were themselves. And, now returning to her calm awe of the previous moments, Senya lapsed into the banter that had so defined their relationship: “And what did you intend for the end of this evening? To seduce me in your solarium?”

“Is that what you desire? Allowing me to take you before the whole of Zakuul?” Valkorion’s lips brushed the shell of one of Senya’s ears.

“Mm, this chaise is rather small. Your chambers have a lovely view. And a comfortable bed.” Senya closed her eyes. Her knees trembled, warmth pooling in her belly.

Valkorion laughed at her audacity. “And what a better place to look upon you when I wake, my Daystar. Speaking of which, I have a gift for you.” He removed his hand from her waist, his robes rustling as he stepped back.

Senya shook her head, though she still smiled, her knees wanting very badly for her to return to her sitting position. Valkorion spoiled her. Jewelry, books for her personal library, custom made weapons, her own personal shuttlecraft – she felt awed by some of the gifts and embarrassed by others. The jewelry often found a place in a locked safe and proceeded to collect dust; would she wear an Emperor’s ransom in diamonds beneath her guard’s armor? Preposterous. A tiara made of the rarest jewels in Wild Space? Ridiculous. She would not be allowed to be decorated in such a fashion, even by Valkorion, even in private. She would let herself be naked before him, gladly, before she would be humiliated in diamonds and draped in fancy silks.

Better to be in her armor, shined, polished, straight-backed and strong, fierce and comely. She carried no shield; her armor was protection enough, fortifying her soul against biting words and tearing claws.

“Should I close my eyes?” She asked, casting a glance over her shoulder, her glossy brown plaits gliding over the soft fabric of her dress. She saw that Valkorion busied himself with a small hinged box – _Goddess, he’s bought me another bauble I’ll never wear_ , she groaned inwardly – before returning her gaze to the stars before them and above them.

“If it pleases you.” He shifted again behind her, this time closing the space between his body and hers.

Senya closed her eyes. She felt a light touch of something around her neck, the cool metal of a slim chain, and the warmth of Valkorion’s strong fingers as he clasped it at her hairline, allowing the chain to drop down into the high collar of her gown. On purpose, he brushed his knuckles on the expanse of skin where the chain had been.

Senya shivered – _damn him, he’ll have his way about taking me in the solarium_ – but when she opened her eyes, looking down at her own chest, she found herself momentarily enthralled.

Upon a chain so slim and delicate that it was nearly invisible hung a pendant of auridium in the shape of a star, no larger than one of Senya’s fingertips. However, it was the craftsmanship that struck her - that every pointed tip seemed to be wrapped a thousandfold, ridged and polished and ridged again, carved with incredibly small tools in other places. Every moment that she looked at the pendant, she saw new details, white gems nearly invisible to the naked eye, and even her own name hidden under a skilled curve.

“A daystar for my Daystar,” rumbled Valkorion in her ear. “Unique, beautiful, powerful, unyielding.”

At last, he’d got it right. This was a bauble she would not take off, nor hide away in embarrassment. This would fit under her armor and warm her heart as she marched and ran and fought in the Emperor’s name.

“Oh,” she breathed. “Valkorion. It’s…”

“ – complex,” he finished, and she caught the pleasure in his deep voice. “Intricate and tenacious. Lovely and intelligent.”

“Mm.” Senya allowed the pendant to rest against her chest as she turned to face Valkorion. “You’re not talking of the pendant anymore, are you?”

There was such unguarded satisfaction in Valkorion’s features that Senya could not help herself; she found herself running a hand over his chest before she even caught herself. Fingers trailed over layers of fine fabric, pausing at the fastenings at the neckline. It was a tease. She would not open them, but it drew a laugh from her husband’s lips. She dared. Oh yes, she did. Let simpering fools wither under his red-eyed gaze; Senya Tirall was bold on the battlefield and bold in her private desires. Complex in the way her hands settled on his waist now, yet she tilted up her head at the same time, offering up her lips in a kiss. Intricate in the way that she waited for him to pull their bodies together for her to strike, mouths together, her own tongue flickering inside. Tenacious, lovely, intelligent – these came as emotions in the Force, her own projections meeting his, not flinching in the pure desire that she found there, the need of his body and soul. It dared scald her, but Senya did not shield herself.

Valkorion’s hands splayed on the small of her back; he was the first to break the kiss. “If you lie on the chaise,” he said in a low voice wrought with dark lust, “you might see an unparalleled view.” Again, his lips brushed over one of her ears.

“If you sit on the chaise, you might watch your Daystar above you.” Fearlessly, she raised her head, trying to catch his eyes with her own. She tried to ignore the warmth in her belly. She would not be a fluttering-hearted weakling here.

His lips pressed back into a genuine smile. Leaning down, he caught her lips one final time, this time with his own tongue curling into her mouth. Pulling back before she could properly have a taste, he stepped back, seating himself on the chaise with his back upon the upper cushions. “Very well, my Daystar. Captivate me.”

Stepping out of her shoes, Senya slid into Valkorion’s lap, her bare legs straddling his thighs. She moaned softly, freeing herself at last, heart hammering in her throat as she aligned their hips together.

She hoped they would not be disturbed for an hour, at least.

 

_3653 BBY_

“The kolto infusion treatments were successful.” The physician turned off the green light on his scanner, instead dangling the instrument a few centimeters above the face of the infant on the table before him. The small boy, his sleeper suit made of rich black velvets and gold trim, reached up a tiny hand, trying to touch the glimmering metal cylinder. His hand fell short, and his small blue eyes widened in rapt attention. “The princes’ lungs are functioning normally. They’re a bit small, of course, but you’ll see – give it a few years and they’ll be eating everything in sight, growing the same as any child their age.”

“They already eat a great deal,” Senya murmured from her nest of pillows. The child in her arms, clad in white, made angry noises, his balled fists flying uselessly. Gently, she guided his bald head to one of her exposed breasts, and he latched on, suckling greedily, his little fists pressing instead against Senya’s warm skin. His blue eyes fixed upon the daystar pendant hanging around his mother’s neck. “Especially Arcann,” she said in a soft voice, tugging the bedclothes around herself and the baby before settling back against the pillows that propped her up. “He’s a fussy little one.”

“Many new parents are surprised how quickly their babies start to show their personality.” Picking up Thexan, the physician wrapped the small boy in his own blanket. The baby calmly stared into the doctor’s face. “No doubt, when they’re grown, you’ll see Prince Thexan telling Prince Arcann to compose himself. I’ll be reporting to His Majesty about their progress. I think he’ll be pleased. Has he seen them?”

“Mm.” Senya looked up from Arcann’s face, almost having forgotten that the physician was present. “What? Oh. Last night. He’ll want to know when they’ll be strong enough for their presentation to the people.”

“By the end of the week.” The physician handed Thexan to the droid nurse, who immediately began to utter a series of comforting trills and rolling beeps. “As long as it’s short. And he’s, ah, aware of the unpredictability of babies. They might not tolerate the holocameras.” He bowed to Senya. “Call for me if you need anything.”

“Thank you, doctor,” she said in a soft voice, looking back down at the child in her arms.

She hardly heard him leave. It was good to be alone with her children, especially because they were no longer tethered to kolto drips and breathing machines in an attempt to correct the issues of their premature birth. The droid nurse spoke only when necessary, usually sticking to comforting noises in the presence of the young princes. It had no sentience, and Senya did not feel the need to hold a discussion with it.

But she talked to her children. She sang to them. She dangled toys above their heads and watched their eyes focus on the bright colors.

When silence settled in, so did the pain of loneliness.

The droid nurse placed Thexan in his cot, and through the clear walls Senya could see that her oldest son was still awake, his chubby hands poking up from the blankets. The nurse hummed, shaking a colorful rattle within Thexan’s reach.

Senya closed her eyes. _He’s missing this_ , she thought, the heaviness of a lack of sleep and maternal hormones threatening to obscure the world from her objective eyes. In the Force, she reached out for Valkorion, but met with only stony silence. She pressed against that silence, but Valkorion did not respond. Either he didn’t feel her quiet inquiry, set into pure emotion – _won’t you come down from your Eternal Throne, my love? Come and see your beautiful sons; come and see me?_ – or he was outright ignoring her.

Valkorion had given her access to his emotions through the Force – he had done this shortly before they married, after they had already become lovers, and oh, had it been an aphrodisiac set on the stage of infinity itself, a window into the world of the divine. Senya saw then the forbidden - the horrors, the terrors and the celestial pleasures that were Valkorion’s emotions. Had it had the intended effect – to play to her own mortality, to draw her into intimacy beyond that which could be expressed with the mortal body, so that she couldn’t see that he had intended her to fall into a chasm of the abandoned all along?

_Goddess above, did I allow him to breed me, only for him to abandon me?_

Tears bloomed under her closed eyelids.

A knock on the door startled her into opening her eyes, her body jerking with surprise. A tear slipped out and onto one of her cheeks as Arcann let go of her breast, responding with a grunt of outrage. Senya exhaled loudly, wiping the tear away with the back of her free hand. Taking advantage of the pause in nursing, she lifted Arcann to one of her shoulders and began to rub his small back. His left fist curled around her daystar pendant, still hanging around her neck on its seemingly delicate chain.

The knock at the door sounded again. Senya growled under her breath, then, remembering not to frighten little Arcann, she gently untwined the shining chain from his fingers. “No, no, little one. All that I have I will share with you – save for this.” She raised her head and her voice. “Who is it?”

“Heskal. May I come in?”

It was out of order, even improper, for even Heskal to visit Senya in her current state but – she needed the company. She craved any presence other than the cold droid to her right hand, now busy caring for her son.

Perhaps Heskal could calm her tormented, exhausted mind.

“Yes, please. Welcome, Heskal.” Placing Arcann on her lap on the top of the thick duvet that covered her, Senya tugged her night-tunic back onto her shoulders. Arcann made a frustrated noise, arms pushing into the air and toward her.

The Scion swept into the room, lowering his hood onto his shoulders. Then, in one swift movement, he crossed the room, kneeling down by the side of the bed. At first, Senya thought it to be a tender gesture of respect against her. But one of his large hands touched the corner of Arcann’s white velvet sleeper in a gesture of submission, as one would kiss the hem of a great leader’s cape.

“Hail, Emperor of Zakuul,” he said in a voice filled with what sounded like a warning.

Senya’s brow furrowed in confusion. The child grunted, stretching a hand toward her again, not seeming to notice the man by his side. “Heskal, that’s Arcann, the second-born,” she said in a quiet, respectful voice. “Thexan is the Emperor’s heir. He’s in his cot, if you wish to see him.”

But when Heskal raised his head to look at Thexan and the bed that held him, he let out a small gasp.

Senya’s mouth gaped open. The droid nurse had stepped back from the cot, looking helplessly, seeming to have been pushed beyond its programming at the situation at hand. Above the cot and little Thexan, suspended by only the Force, the rattle rotated in midair. Thexan burbled proudly.

“Oh,” Senya whispered, reverent and pleased all at once. A smile started to settle into her exhausted features.

But then, Arcann uttered a wail, punching one of his fists into the air and toward her. Before she could react, the chain around her neck snapped, the daystar glittering through the air and landing in the newborn’s outstretched hand. He grunted, satisfied, kicking one small heel against the bedclothes.

Senya froze, in horror, staring at the baby in her lap. He jerked the hand that held her daystar, looking calmer now, his blue eyes half-closed in an unmistakable expression of satisfaction.

Then, all at once, the wall within her mind seemed to drop, and what flooded through the Force could only be described as pure pride, almost ferociously so. It was as if atoms gathered in cosmic hands, were pressed together, and exploded into howling, writhing pulsars, much to the joy of a malevolent god.

“Yes, my children,” rumbled Valkorion from inside the open doorway. “Good.”

 

_3630 BBY_

“Do you still wear that old thing?”

Dawn had not yet broken on Odessen. Senya had been so deeply caught in her reverie that she had not heard or sensed Arcann’s approach. She realized also, as he stood at her side near railing that surrounded the Odessen base, that she had been playing with her daystar pendant. For the past twenty-three years, it had been hanging on a somewhat stronger, less expensive chain, one not so easily broken, one that she had bought for herself.

Arcann wore a cloak over his plain tunic and trousers – no ornamentation, an attempt to blend in better on the Odessen compound. The cloak’s hood rested on a fairly recent crop of short, light brown hair; it was the first time that Senya had seen him without his head shaven since he was a child.

“Oh yes.” The daystar remained between Senya’s fingertips. She turned to face her son. “I never take it off.”

Arcann made a noise of deferment and shifted his gaze to the forest beyond. “Let me buy you a new one.” There was a note of displeasure in his voice.

“I don’t need a new pendant, and you don’t have the money to spend on unnecessary gifts.” She knew that Arcann was growing accustomed to living without much, to living on a budget, to living on his own for the first time in his life. In much the same way, she herself was learning to live a new life of relative stability. She had her own quarters. She served a worthy cause. She had friends and trustworthy companions. And she had Arcann – without Valkorion standing between them.

Arcann may have endured the healing rituals of the Voss, but Senya knew that he would be healing for the rest of his life. He awoke every morning and shrugged off the mantle of the oppressor, telling the tyrannical side of himself that there would be no foothold for him there. He chose to be a healer, a teacher, and a protector – even a friend. But not every day was a victory. There were days that the phantom pain from his missing left arm proved debilitating; there were nights that he awoke from nightmares of white-hot lightning and exploding bombs and Valkorion’s rage, sobbing into his sweat-soaked bedclothes.

Every day was a choice. And today, he seemed to choose the daystar and the memories packed into its infinitely small details, the glitter of sadness upon its pale jewels. His scarred lips set into a fine line of disapproval, and Senya had the impulse to be frank with him.

“Arcann, look at me,” she said in a quiet yet firm voice, not displeased, but wanting him to listen and understand. “Your father gave me this pendant because it was a symbol – a daystar. That’s what he called me – his daystar.”

“You are not sentimental about anything else.” Arcann pressed his lips together. “Just this one thing – this gift from _him –_ this is where you are stubborn.”

“You’re missing the point. It didn’t belong to him and neither did I.” She let the daystar fall back into its place, beneath her armor, below her collarbone. “Arcann, let me tell you something that I believe. I believe that a person can give you a name. It’s up to you what you do with it – you can reject it, you can accept it, or you can make it your own. I say what I do with my life, here and now. You and I are survivors, Arcann, and I choose what this daystar means to me. I am the daystar. And to me, it means that I hang in that sky and watch my people when they are the most vulnerable. It is a part of me. It is mine.”

Arcann looked down at his prosthetic left hand, turning it over, curling each of the fingers in turn. Senya watched him, and could see the thoughts behind his eyes. He had heard her words. He was making sense of them. He was making her advice his own.

She dared touch him – first with the tips of her fingers on the dark metal of the prosthetic arm, aware that he could feel the pressure she applied there, and then slipping upwards, her fingers lacing with his. She curled her left hand over both of theirs, flesh warming the cold black metal, and looked up into her son’s face, both earnest and loving.

“I understand now,” he rumbled, looking down at their hands. Leaning over, he brushed a kiss against her brown and grey-streaked hair, a gesture that brought tears to Senya’s eyes. “Thank you for explaining it to me.”

And they fell silent, hand in hand, watching the sun rise.


End file.
